


Crash and Burn

by Kitexa



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Depression, Desperation, Escape, F/M, Implied Breakup, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Rated mature because art included is violent, Regret, The Last King of Scotland AU, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitexa/pseuds/Kitexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s what you get for wanting too much, Charles. Reach for the moon, land inside a black hole. </p><p>A short piece inspired by The Last King of Scotland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash and Burn

“Time to go” Urges the doctor, dark eyes wide and searching his makeshift patient’s face. Charles gasps, unprepared for rough hands under his own, giving him little choice but to scramble upright.  The world swerves as his feet find their footing, agony splintering up his lower back.

“I—” He sputters, face twisting in a knot as fire spreads throughout his chest – internal, external – he blinks, hard, but it doesn’t waver.

“You need to go.” The medical man presses, and before Charles realizes what’s going on, he’s being nudged towards the door. Dazed, he turns his head, peering with his good eye at this unlikely alley.

“…why?” Passes through a split lip. They hadn’t any explicit bad blood between them; rather, worked closely together for nearly a year. But time had come and gone and the two had grown into very different men. One obliged to unshakeable duty, the other… blinded by the finer things until the ugly truth tore him apart. The doorframe comes up short; he staggers forward, bracing himself on its metal frame, other arm carefully cradling his own. His colleague steps back, leaving the wounded man to right himself, alone. His heart kicks his throbbing chest, pumping blood past his ears.

“Armando--?” A frantic Charles throws a glance past his shoulder, in time to meet the shifting frame of his now former colleague. Marbled rock fills in angles where there weren’t any previous, glossy skin glinting, despite the dim lights. His eyes, however, hold their warning: _go now, before it’s too late._

Stumbling over a breath, Charles’ head bobs. He then faces forward, beginning the long trek towards freedom.

* * *

  


A gentle hand against his shoulder wakes him sometime later. Charles bolts upright, jerking away. A calming face and worried eyes calm his erratic heartbeat, memories rushing forth and reminding him Genosha was a world and an ocean away.

“S.. sorry.” Fumbles the beaten man, shame burning his cheeks. He dares another look at his seating partner’s face. A thin layer of fur covers her face – burnt and dusty white mingling together. A pair of silt olive pupils blink back at him, soft and glittering with a ghost of understanding. He wonders if that covers murdering, manipulative dictators and their frigid offspring.

“Time to go.” She says suddenly, and a knot once more coils around his stomach. _You’ve got a chance to make this right_ , echoes behind his head, piercing gaze through granite stone speaking their silent message.

Damned Armando and his faith… should Charles only have enough within him left to honor it.

Using the seat for support, he pulled himself into a standing position, relieved to find a waiting arm extending from the elder woman. Again, embarrassment struck him, but it was a far cry from the agony burrowed into his bones. Biting back a whimper, he fell into her side, and let her lead him to the door.

* * *

  


“You should call an ambulance.” Murmurs the elder woman, taking a seat beside him. She’d led him to a row of chairs towards a barren wall, free from the boisterous chaos in the air. He’d hated airports as a child, and that distaste still stood. His mother used to call him ‘sensitive.’ He learned later to call it telepathy.

Charles curls against the wall, arms wrapped firmly around his middle. Each breath saws against his lungs – well – everything, really, as both inside and out had been torn to shreds. __Not terribly far off_ , _he thinks bitterly, grinding his teeth together.   How desperately he longs to disappear. Succumb to an eternal sleep free from waking aches and pains. 

“I can’t.” He coughs, and he can tell even before her answer this exceeds her realm of understanding. How could she? For all the cruelty that snowballed as Genosha’s borders tightened, very few possessed a front row seat. Even fewer saw that icy glare whenever they closed their eyes.  _It wasn’t just him though, was it?_

A shuddering breath, forcing himself to straighten.  “I can’t” tumbles from his lips, unable to meet her eyes again. Sebastian Shaw had not been able to create a mutant ‘safe haven’ without previously establishments. An ocean away or not, he wouldn’t put it past the man to somehow receive word of his whereabouts.

That, and his daughter also happened to be a telepath.

So Charles shakes his head (then stops, because it HURTS) and holds himself a little tighter. _I can’t, I can’t, they’ll kill me if I go alone…_

If he’d projected or she’d simply been intuitive, Charles couldn’t say. He simply felt her hand on his shoulder once more.

“Is there someone you can call?” A sense of urgency this time; most of the other escapees were on their way home. All anxious to reunite with loved ones… of course this woman would as well.

He remaina silent for a moment, withholding an automatic ‘no.’ There were fragmented individuals; a foster sister with a young family of her own, a mother rarely spoken to (even before he went away), a step-father he’d rather forget… none of whom he wished to face in so vulnerable a condition.

_You can’t go to a hospital alone._

No… and he needed somewhere to stay… since all forms of identification were left behind in Genosha.

Who then could he turn to? (Who then can you trust?)

Beside him, his temporary companion shifts. Further reasoning to hurry and decide. (Although in fairness, he’s just escaped a literal life and death situation, least she could do is see things from his angle.)

Why it dons on him he can’t remember, although he shouldn’t be surprised. Run off to start another life, watch it crash and burn and here he is again, filled with regret and a plethora of other things he’s sure will stay with him long after.

“… may I use your phone?” Croaks Charles, parched from fear and dehydration. A beat of hesitation. She hands off the device. Heart in his throat, he dials.

 _Please… please answer me._  


* * *

  


Time passes. The midday sun hangs lower through the windows, drawing with it looming shadows on the floor. Charles sits alone now, still cramped against the wall, warding off those who raise their brow through fleeting bursts of telepathy. Anything further aggravates his throbbing skull, so he’s been forced to accept anticipation. His only source of distraction resides in chasing off the rising thought of abandonment.

_You left him, first. Isn’t that the same thing?_

It was a mutual disband based upon different ideals. He in no way ever lost his feeling. Nor had he attempted to move on until it seemed as though they’d drifted apart.

_That’s what you get for wanting too much, Charles. Reach for the moon, land inside a black hole._

A burbling noise drops from his lips, allowing his good eye to close. How long he remains that way he can’t tell, but sooner than later his powers rouse him from his sorry state, alerted by a foreign burst of worry.

His stomach knots, almost afraid to survey his surroundings. _Not foreign,_ pushes panic through is mind, __familiar._ The word you’re seeking is familiar.  _

“..Charles..?”

The name drifts through the air, broken and soft, though it’s due, in part, to the distance between them. Something squeezes Charles’ heart, at last drawing his head up.

That’s all it takes for the dam to break.

“Erik…” Charles chokes. His shoulders shake. His body moves on its own, climbing up the wall until he finds himself upright. The next thing he knows, he’s moving forward, tears stinging his eyes and starting to fall. “Erik—”

The other man meets him halfway, gathering him close when his legs begin to give. Suddenly Erik seems everywhere all at once, warm and strong and _there._ A solidified presence despite his own alarm, clinging to Charles as he sobs into his chest. 

“I’m s—” coughs the telepath, balling fistfuls of the other’s rumpled top. Where he’s been or what he’s done in Charles’ absence is anyone’s guess; he’s here right now, and that’s what’s most important.

“I’m sorry, I-I’m so… sorry…” _You were right, you’re always right, I should have stayed with you.  
_

 

_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I'd hoped to write a full fic around this premise. As I'm not sure that will happen, I figure I'd at least post the original drabble.
> 
> Also, please no one remove or repost my artwork. Thank you.


End file.
